


calculate the entropy

by axumun



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Baking, Domesticity, Dominant Lio Fotia, Established Relationship, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Friends With Benefits, Getting Together, Hair Dyeing, M/M, Multi, Pining, Polyamory, Tattoos, Tongue Piercings, generals with benefits, two established couples making a cuddle pile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-26 23:55:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30113994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/axumun/pseuds/axumun
Summary: Galo's finger traces a seam on the blanket beside them. "They...they really love you.”“Yeah,” Lio breathes, waiting.“In a way that I can’t. That I don’t know how.” Galo settles into a sitting position, looking down at the gap between them on the bed.It's impossible to love the man that Gueira and Meis had sworn themselves to; that man is gone. Galo hadn't ever met him, not under the right circumstances.
Relationships: Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos, Lio Fotia/Gueira/Meis, Lio Fotia/Gueira/Meis/Galo Thymos
Comments: 16
Kudos: 34





	calculate the entropy

**Author's Note:**

> The tl;dr tragic lore is that I wrote this kind of obsessively over the course of a month while I was in quarantine and waiting to go back to work. I'm grateful to have had such a fun outlet, and I feel like it taught me a lot in a time that was dull at best, and full of darkness at its worst.
> 
> Thank you so much to Lyrancon/@Molten Rainbow for once again being my beta, and also the inspiration for this story in the first place. Once the brainworms were planted there was no going back. Thanks for indulging my endless whining and rambling!

When Lio says _I love you,_ he damn well means it, but there's a hole at the end of the sentiment this time that fills him with a novel fear.

"D'aww, I love _you!_ " Galo returns easily. Lio's heart constricts from how full it feels when those big arms pull him in for a bear hug, warming cheeks nuzzling against the top of his head. Yet his touch rubs at the hollow like a hole in a windshield, broken glass cracking inside of Lio's chest.

Within the first few weeks after the Second Great World Blaze, the elite remnants of the former fearsome Mad Burnish swallowed their collective pride and joined Burning Rescue 3, at the insistence of its number one rookie firefighter. ("Who'd know how to put out fires better than someone who started 'em?" Galo had pointed out proudly; Lio hadn't been swayed by his attempt at waxing philosophical at first, but maybe he's onto something). Gueira and Meis soon upgraded from crashing in the station barracks - per Ignis' behest and Galo's enthusiasm - to scoring a tucked-away studio apartment just a few blocks down.

In the whirlwind of the government's upheaval and developing investigation into the full scope of events, the two are skating by with moderate community service assignments. The leniency feels like a meek apology for almost sacrificing their bodies for a botched interplanetary migration, but they don't rush to complain when they could've been dealt much worse.

Lio has been shouldered with the more public burden of attending endless interviews, conferences, and court dates. The resulting loads of paperwork eat up most of his remaining free time and energy. But when he's not attending _those_ duties, or training at the station, he remains practically attached to Galo's hip.

After two weeks of Lio sleeping on the couch, Galo had gifted him a little motorbike keychain to hook to his copy of the apartment key. Lio finds himself playing with it whenever he’s anxious. Somewhere in the blur of weeks turning into months, Lio's made himself cozy in Galo's bed, and everything else has become _theirs_ too.

Lio doesn't know how long you're supposed to wait before you tell someone you love them. He's never had the chance to wait before, the luxury and security of a promised day ahead. It's exhilarating.

It's a new kind of weight.

Waiting is pointless, Lio reasons with himself. Feelings like this don't change for someone you've co-piloted a giant mech with, burned the world down together with, who's pulling you closer and kissing you like _this_ and smiling into your mouth and pressing your noses together, making you feel so safe and wanted and _adored._

He pushes down the ache and lets Galo's fire engulf him instead, burning away every other insecurity he's ever bottled up.

Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ

"I told Galo I love him," Lio blurts to Meis and Gueira's vacant, crackling walls. No other topic of conversation edges its way to his mouth in time to temper the confession.

It's only the third time he's invited himself over, but he appreciates the change in scenery, the rotation in company. Yet, a longing for Galo gnaws lazily at him even in this short foray. When he goes home, he knows he'll feel this loss as well, his heart passing between two houses like a hot potato.

Meis downs the last of the bottle of beer he's sharing with Gueira, then asks, "Did you mean it?"

"Yes," Lio says immediately.

Gueira chimes in, "So the problem is?"

Lio curls in on himself. "Just never had...I've never been with anyone like this." _Except you._

"Well," Gueira continues, "he's still a lughead, and I still have to give him his shovel talk. But we owe a lot to that guy." Lio follows Gueira's gaze to the floor, noticing the ragged cuffs of his jeans. "Almost _everything._ "

"I've seen the way he looks at you," Meis offers, beaming at him. "He's totally stupid for you, dude."

It's true, he feels the same, and he couldn't bear to lose any of it. Yet he wants _more_ \- wants to reach his hands out right now, pull them both closer and just stay.

Those days are long gone.

Meis and Gueira moving in together had been an affectionate inevitability. They're curled up on the couch together like they share a body. Lio's felt the way they do enough himself lately that it feels like watching his own reflection.

There aren't a lot of places to sit, and the couch is only reasonably meant for two. If he inches closer, he can totally blame it on that.

"What's on your mind, Boss?" Gueira prods. A tangled thread unravels inside of Lio, looping it through the eye of a cold, prodding needle. When a hand settles on Lio's knee, it takes everything Lio has to keep a halfway respectable distance.

They're not hiding anymore, or keeping watch. Lio's still unsure what to do with the space in his brain vacated by vigilant survival instincts. The truth sticks in his throat: their three-way blood oath, the grainy memory of cold, creaky beds; desperate hands and panting mouths; a eulogy in preparation for a sacrifice that would never come. All of it tumbles together with blood-stained gravel and blades made of fire, screams of battle he always feared he'd hear for the last time.

Lio had known the terrain of the desert like the calluses of his fingers. Meis and Gueira had been city boys, hardened from the hand they'd been dealt, but lacking guidance. Still far too green, far too sure of themselves.

They learned quickly, because there'd been no other way to learn, with their way of life.

They were spitfires when he'd found them, burning at their highest temperature, desperate to prove their independence. Their tempers only flared upon having their whole modus operandi challenged and upended, cooling once Lio proved himself more than capable of leading them.

(Lio's never asked if Gueira or Meis had killed before him; he never will.)

They'd trudged through every second of it side by side, even when they were all that remained, until they almost burned to ashes together.

"You were so strong," Lio whispers brokenly, a burning sensation making the muscles in his face twitch. He curls into Gueira's chest so they don’t see his mouth crumple, but it gives him away all the same.

"Hey," Gueira soothes, running a hand up and down his back. He smells like smoke, and his shirt could probably stand to be washed. "It's alright now, Boss. You were too."

Meis snakes an arm around them both, petting Lio's hair, squeezing in closer. "We had to be. But it's over."

There are a lot of things that are indeed _over,_ but all that's running through his head are personal, superficial grievances. He's supposed to think bigger than this, stand for more than this.

Has he ever told them he loves them? Did he ever need to?

Meis wraps a big blanket around them as Lio's tears stain the front of Gueira's shirt. There's a perfectly good bed here, one that Lio holds no claim to, but none of them make it there.

Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ

It's Galo's idea to get them all together for a night of pizza and video games - they'd started off on the wrong foot, he'd said, and wanted everyone to be on good terms. Lio wonders if Galo's regretting the sentiment yet, as Gueira's throwing popcorn at his head, unaware of how fragile his ego can be in benign tests of skill.

Galo is balancing Lio on one leg, arms wrapping around him to hold the controller. Gueira sits directly beside them, half-sitting on Meis' lap. Galo’s couch is bigger than Meis and Gueira’s, but it's still only reasonably meant for three.

"I was so good at this as a kid, man," Gueira grumbles, leaning forward in his frustration. Lio worries about his posture sometimes. "All this newfangled shit doesn't have to be here."

"But it's pretty!" Galo gestures toward the screen, finding a reserve of his famous store of patience. "It's so smooth and the carts are super cool looking - "

"It used to be simple," Gueira moans. "One more round."

They remain civil through the first few laps, and the popcorn bowl once again becomes a food source rather than a store of ammunition. Lio's still wondering if popcorn is supposed to go with pizza anyway, but he eats it while he has the chance, because a little stir in his gut tells him the tables are going to turn.

Gueira's nostrils flare as he falls into last place again; it's not quite like when flames would shoot from his nose while they were Burnish, but the effect is about the same.

"All this flashy shit - " Gueira desperately mashes buttons, " - how the hell am I supposed to see anything? Fuck - "

"Just watch the track," Galo suggests. "How long's it been since you played again?"

Gueira's mental counting distracts him enough that his poor princess falls off the edge of a cliff. He curses under his breath. "Probably twelve years? But I vow to you, Thymos, your ass would be on a platter if this was the first edition."

"You're probably right," Galo says, firmly in fifth place. "You wanna try a different course?"

Gueira's groan almost sounds like a growl, like he's plainly asking for something Galo's not giving him. "If you kick my ass, I want you to _earn_ it."

A glint appears in Galo's eyes that Lio hasn't seen before - not like his righteous conviction from Lio de Galon, but something competitive, challenging. "You sure you don't just need to get better?"

Anyone else might describe Gueira's blooming expression as plain _angry_ , but Lio can see the spark of giddiness Galo's lighting in him like a chemical reaction. The popcorn becomes ammo again, shot childishly at Galo's face. Galo might develop a permanent wrinkle from the scowl he makes.

Lio really hopes that Galo doesn't think Gueira is being too much of an insolent guest, despite the heat he's giving back, too. Lio's used to both of their short fuses by now, but lighting them together just makes a bigger explosion. Their time together up to this point has been pleasant - euphoric at times, even. It hurts to think it might be lost as soon as it's found; doesn't it make sense for all of the people he loves to just love each other?

The game is paused, and Lio's jerked a bit as Galo leans to the side to get in Gueira's space.

"I don't appreciate bad sports," he breathes inches from Gueira's face, dark but level-headed. "And I don't take excuses in this house. If you wanna kick my ass so bad, we can play a fighting game, I suck at those."

Gueira ventures even closer. "If I kick your ass, I want it to feel good!"

"Oh, just make out already," Meis says, a safe enough distance from the temper tantrum.

Gueira twists all the way around, channeling the momentum of his energy into Meis' mouth, kissing him with enough enthusiastic force to bruise. Meis gives back as good as he gets, despite being pressed into the couch. Lio turns to sit across both of Galo's legs, watching as his jaw falls slack.

"Woah," Galo stammers, momentum broken. He sounds awestruck, like he's never considered this possibility. Meis and Gueira are making out like they're the only ones in the house, in the _world_ ,and Galo doesn't seem sure what to do about any of it other than laugh. It's an infectious thing, bright and warm and just a little too loud.

Clearer than anything Lio's felt in the relentless roller coaster of the past few months, he's stuck in the middle of everything he's ever needed to feel whole.

"Alright," Lio insists, swatting lightly at Gueira's ass, and then _they're_ giggling, too. "You've still got your own place, y’know. Modesty is a skill we need to properly integrate - “

Gueira shifts to wrap an arm around Lio’s shoulders and pull him into their orbit, still giggling. His lips press against Lio's cheek once, twice, tightened into a toothy grin. Then he stops himself in his tracks, pulling back, trying to give Lio as much space as possible while being halfway on his lap.

“Shit. I’m sorry, Boss,” Gueira says; Lio can count on one hand all the times he’s heard Gueira mean an apology, and adds one to the counter. Gueira’s downcast gaze shifts to Galo - forlorn, unsure how to communicate shame to someone he’s been pushing away all night.

“S’okay,” Galo answers quickly, dropping a kiss on Lio’s opposite cheek, because it’s only fair. Lio’s face feels hot again. “It makes sense.”

“What does?” asks Meis, loosely keeping Gueira at bay with a hand splayed across his heart.

“That you’d be...that you all...y’know.” Galo absently mashes his hands together like finger puppets, trying to make them kiss.

Lio sways back toward Galo’s warmth, and Galo supports him readily, but he feels like a ricocheting pinball that can’t decide where to fall. Gueira’s eyes are soft on him, though, and Meis seems distracted by the slopes of Gueira’s face.

Still safe for now, then.

“I hope you’re not too jealous,” Lio tells Galo. He means it, but there’s a playful edge that he can’t quite dull. He grins up at Galo, but his eyes are ready to give Galo a safe place to land if he needs it.

Galo's eyes flutter in deep concentration. “No, you’ve...been through a lot together. I probably wouldn’t understand.”

Lio's face falls. People in Galo’s life have a tendency to criticize his intelligence, whether lovingly or maliciously, but he hopes Galo doesn’t actually take it to heart. Galo’s the most fool-hearted man he’s ever met, sure - reckless, impulsive, single-minded - but a far cry from stupid. Galo should really give himself more credit for his imagination -

A thought steeped in a velvety darkness breaks into Lio's mind, a jagged-edged piece that almost fits into the hole in his panging heart. An idealistic wet dream, serving no functional purpose, but maybe he can save it for later.

Meis settles back on the couch, still halfway in Gueira’s lap, as Gueira ruffles Lio’s hair. “I’m just glad we’re still here,” he muses. “All of us.”

Galo gives them all one of those big, irresistible smiles that takes up his whole face. “Me too! This is fun! Just a shame Gueira's not better at video games, though - "

Gueira inches back toward Galo, his eyes full of mischief. "Alright, you're askin' for it, big guy - "

"Gentlemen," Lio cuts in before they get too carried away, eyeing the popcorn strewn across the floor. "We're cleaning up this mess."

Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ

Later in the night, after Meis and Gueira have gone - following hugs between them and Lio that linger a little too long - Galo’s moves on Lio are a new brand of urgent, taking full advantage of his height and muscle in a way he so rarely does, a way Lio's been craving.

He's never been kissed quite like this, like he’s a miraculous oasis and Galo is dying of thirst. It feels amazing to let himself be guided, held. Adored. And yet, a worry grips him.

“Baby,” Lio muffles around Galo’s fervent mouth. “What's gotten into you?” He scooches back so he can sit up, and Galo follows, touch softening.

Galo crawls between Lio's legs; honest, longing. He skims his teeth down Lio’s neck, running his tongue back up to soothe the sting. Lio wants more, harder, but he pushes his desire down to read Galo's face. His hands frame Galo's jaw; his bright blue eyes are wild, shimmering and dark. Searching.

“Talk to me,” Lio implores. “I want this, but...I have to know you’re feeling okay.”

Galo half-pouts, half-ponders. His voice is a dreamy whisper. “I can’t stop thinking about it," he admits. "About Meis and Gueira, kissing you, touching you…”

Lio swallows, heart sinking. “I - We don’t have to have them over again, if you’re uncomfortable - “

“No, no,” Galo stammers, kissing the top of Lio’s head. He bites his lip, the way he always does when his words come out wrong. “This is all new to me. _Everything_ feels new right now. I’m torn, ‘cuz like...I don’t want to stand in the way of you - “

“You’re not,” Lio assures him firmly. “It was a long time ago." _More like, a lot of world history ago._ "I meant what I said.”

Galo’s lips twitch upward into a shy smile, knowing right where Lio's mind is, always. “I love you too, Lio.”

His damn face is flushing again, but they’re getting off track (or still looking for the track). “Okay. So let’s get that out of the way. I’m happy with you, and you’re not in the way of anything. Next item, please.”

Galo's finger traces a seam on the blanket beside them. "They...they really love you.”

“Yeah,” Lio breathes, waiting.

“In a way that I can’t. That I don’t know how.” Galo settles into a sitting position, looking down at the gap between them on the bed.

It's impossible to love the man that Gueira and Meis had sworn themselves to; that man is gone. Galo hadn't ever met him, not under the right circumstances.

“Does that bother you?” Lio asks.

Galo swallows, shakes his head. "They're...really good dudes. I never could have known that at first. But the world is changing, and I'm glad I can see that." He smiles sweetly.

Lio's face softens in turn. "Me too, Galo."

"Also they're really hot." Galo spits it out like the words are burning his mouth. Damn, _he's_ the one blushing now; it's a pretty look on a man usually so unashamed. "Um."

"Oh," Lio manages.

"So I'm curious," Galo continues. Lio's up to his eyeballs in a flood of incomprehensible emotion - arousal and concern and embarrassment all conflicting, but the former is edging to the top. "What'd you _do?_ "

Lio tugs off his own shirt, arms looping around Galo's neck. "Don't I get to keep _any_ secrets?" he teases.

"Yes," Galo gasps, kissing him again. "But you want me to know. Am I wrong?"

Lio _does_ , if only so _someone_ can know - but the reality isn't quite as sexy or romantic as Galo seems to be picturing. They'd been frantic encounters - stolen minutes on night-chilled cave floors, huddled in dark corners and whispering lustful promises that withered in the face of the ones they made on the battlefield.

It was nothing serious, he wants to say. But he holds his tongue.

"Someday I'll tell you, but I'll say this much for now," Lio purrs, warm breath grazing Galo's ear. "I didn't let anyone top me back then. But you…" His teeth worry at Galo's earlobe, and Galo shivers. "That's what I want from you tonight, Galo Thymos."

"Okay!" Galo squeaks, his earlier energy returning. They've been pretty versatile since they've been together, but it's the first time Lio's hinted about his history. Maybe that's the responsible thing to talk about, when you love someone. Lio's still not sure.

Galo's hands are heavy on him again, teeth sinking a little too high up on his collarbone to easily hide tomorrow. It's everything he's never known how to ask for. Sinking back into the bed, Lio flicks the switch in the center of his brain constantly vying for dominance, and lets himself be consumed.

Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ

Lio doesn't have high hopes for another night all together, but Galo has a way of subverting his expectations.

"Think you'd be up for company tonight?" he asks Lio, about a week later. Lio's expecting Aina, maybe Lucia - they've both been over before, and he's warmed up to them quite a bit since interning at Burning Rescue.

"I suppose," Lio answers - in his own world, not really bothering for the details. "Just need to make more lasagna, I guess."

"Cool," Galo quips. He appears to be texting.

Half an hour later, Gueira and Meis are knocking at the door, faces touching the glass of the window and trying to peek under the half-curtain. Rude. Lio opens the door and they almost fall over from where they'd been bracing their weight on it, scrabbling.

Lio stares at them, then back to Galo on the couch, smirking rather than wearing any surprise. Then back to the boys.

"Come in," Lio welcomes, off-balance. He doesn't ask about when Galo got their phone numbers, because he's not sure his heart can take it yet.

They both drop quick pecks on Lio's cheek, barely touching him, but the gesture's there. It's not like last time - deliberate, planned. No hesitation, no discomfort. He's going to need to start carrying around ice packs for his reddening face.

"Since when do you cook, Boss?" Gueira chirps, nose upturned toward the kitchen counter, curious.

"Usually don't," Lio admits. He picks his tablet up, moving it to its proper spot in the living room. It's normal for him to multitask - a housing proposal here, an activist email there - but his brain is going in enough directions at once right now. "Galo's taught me a thing or two."

"I bet," Meis snorts, and Gueira elbows him in the ribs.

This was one of the first things Galo showed him how to cook, and it's the first time Lio's making it completely on his own. It's like a deconstructed pizza, Galo had said...which Lio still doesn't quite get. He fiddles with his phone to double the ingredient quantities of the recipe he's found.

The most complicated part is cooking the meat, but that's just a test of patience, temperature control. Easy. A part of him already wants to make everything from scratch and understand it at a molecular level, but Galo had insisted that he start out simply acquainting himself with being in a kitchen first. It's dizzying, finding something that leaves so much margin for error, yet keeps him so calm.

Meis and Gueira settle on the couch on either side of Galo. It's great to see them getting along and joking around - good-naturedly bickering over what to watch, Gueira lightly swatting at Galo's shoulder, Galo poking at Meis' knee. Somehow it's bloomed independent of him, right under his nose. Out of nowhere, he can't stop smiling.

Galo pulls at a part of his unruly, faded fringe, frowning. "Gotta dye this again," he moans.

"You do it yourself?" Meis asks, perking up.

"Didn't always," Galo explains. "I had a stylist, who worked for the government. But we're not...acquainted anymore."

Lio knows this already. Foresight had provided an array of services to Galo, substituting for his guidance and affection: tutors, cleaners, financial advisors. More often than not, they weren't as much guides to Galo as figures that did everything for him. It’d left Galo off balance when they were lost, unsure how to handle full independence after never being given the chance to use it.

It’s over now, and they can navigate it together, even though there are a lot of things that Lio never learned, either.

"So! The past couple times I've done it myself. And it _sucks_." Galo pouts; Lio doesn't have to look to know it.

Meis smirks, replacing Galo's fingers with his own, inspecting his canvas. "It's not a bad job, for a rookie. But I could help you out." He scritches at the shaved side of Galo's head where his dark roots are dominant, the blue shaved away.

"Oh," Galo gasps. Lio catches the way he leans into the touch. "Thanks, I'd like that."

"He does tats, too!" Gueira informs, pulling down the collar of his T-shirt. Galo's eyes travel down, back up, further down.

"Uhh, maybe I'll get back to you on that." Galo smiles, shy.

“I’ve got more - “ Gueira insists, but Meis just reaches across Galo to slap his hand over Gueira’s mouth before he can elaborate.

Lio sticks the pan in the oven, tidies up the countertop, and saunters over to the couch. Meis has picked a nature documentary - you learn a lot about someone in a rebel group running from the law, but you learn more when they're comfortable, Lio supposes. He can trace the cross-country paths they've traveled on a map, see into the bitter pantheon of gritty decisions they'd had to make just to stay alive, but he’s never had the chance to find out what they like to do in their downtime.

Lio settles on Galo’s knee - comfortable, familiar, and well-balanced between everyone - but Meis pouts playfully at him anyway, as Lio’s favored the knee closer to Gueira. Meis paws at him, and Lio huffs in theatrical exasperation. It’s odd to have his attention vied for like this, but maybe he can get used to it.

He wriggles around to lay across all three of them: his head on Meis’ thigh, ass in Galo’s lap, feet dangling over the edge of Gueira’s legs. Meis scratches gently at Lio’s scalp, Galo squeezes his hand, and Gueira traces little circles over his ankle, above the cut of his sock. Lio’s never felt so completely _held_ , all of his physical and spiritual weight supported. He sighs and his eyelids grow heavy, everyone’s vibrant energy melting together into something temperate and calm.

His loves are separate and equivalent, and also not mutually exclusive. He loves Galo, he loves Gueira, he loves Meis. These facts don’t conflict, don’t rank up against each other. They coexist, and when they touch, sparks run up and down his spine.

Selfish may it be, he wants them all.

The oven beeps, and Lio is rudely shoved back into a reality where if he doesn’t peel himself from the cocoon of his three favorite people in the world, their dinner will burn. It’s cruelty, is what it is.

The edges are a little dark, but the middle is cooked through, so he counts himself successful. It only sticks to the bottom of the pan a little bit. Nice.

“This is pretty good, Boss!” Gueira chimes around his mouthful. Meis hums his agreement.

“Galo’s is better,” Lio refutes good-naturedly. He considers as he chews. “I’m getting there, though.”

“You’ve come a long way!” affirms Galo, barely pausing between bites even when he’s speaking. He’s never been a fugitive scraping by on rationed food, but he has the same ravenous lack of table manners as Lio's generals. “When you started, you even burned water!”

“Exaggerating,” Lio chides, but his lips twitch up.

“Boss can burn anything,” Meis adds cheerfully, and Lio laughs despite himself. His belly’s starting to ache, unaccustomed to so much laughter.

“Damn straight,” Lio preens. “I burned it like a pro.”

Gueira and Meis are quick to help clean up, even though it’s far from a four person job. Meis jumps into washing the dishes, and Gueira takes the opportunity to squeeze Meis' ass while his back is turned. Meis relaliates, giggling as he splashes water in Gueira's face. All Lio has to do is hum for them to settle down for a moment, but once Gueira sidles up to Meis to help dry the dishes, they're lost in a makeout again.

They're acting like horny teenagers, but Lio can't blame them too much; he feels spontaneously overcome in the same way whenever he looks at Galo. It's a series of cosmic miracles that allowed them all to survive, that have led them all to this kitchen, right now.

Sometimes Galo kisses him out of nowhere, when they're both focused on separate tasks, when there's nothing to be gained in return. Lio wonders if he feels it, too.

“Hey,” Galo murmurs, his fingers brushing against Lio’s; a separate, private question. “Do you guys wanna stay the night?”

Three sets of eyes get wide and starry like cats as they all share sly glances. The pull-out couch probably isn't much of a downgrade from Gueira and Meis’ bed. It won’t be like old times - Lio doesn’t want it to be, in a lot of ways - but there’s something strangely comforting about sleeping under the same roof as his boys again.

_His boys._

Lio looks up at Galo, nodding to signal his approval. If Galo's been feeling unsure about any of this, all of it melts away in his answering smile.

“Yeah!” they cry in unison, followed by a more reserved _if you don’t mind_ from Meis, at the same time as a restrained _you sure?_ from Gueira. Lio isn’t going to allow them to be shy, though - not now, not after all this - so he steps forward to pull them both into a hug.

“We’d love that,” he assures them. They grin into his hair, returning the embrace to create a perfect ring with their arms.

Galo closes in, chin dropping on the top of Lio’s head. His arms wrap around everyone, his fingers just barely unable to meet. “I do have ulterior motives, though,” he says. “You’re all training with me in the morning, and we don’t sleep in ‘round here. You can ask your Boss.”

Lio feels the vibration of twin tired groans from inside their circle, abs aching with more laughter.

“Is this atonement?” Meis wonders dramatically aloud, a soliloquy. “Have we not suffered enough for the sins of our past?”

“No,” says Galo gravely, “but! The night’s still young, we could watch a movie.” He kisses Lio’s hair.

There's not much fuss about the choice; everyone's more invested in spending time together than what they're watching. They resume their previous positions on the couch, and Lio feels suspended in time, frozen in a daydream he can't believe is unfolding all around him. Maybe he drifts off.

About halfway through, they pause to arrange the pull-out, determined to finish what they started but too tired to want to bother dealing with the setup later. The ottoman is pushed to the side as Galo pulls a familiar heap of blankets and pillows from the linen closet that Lio hasn’t seen since he slept here himself.

The pull-out might accommodate two well enough, but four is definitely beyond its intended capacity. As such, there’s no choice but to arrange themselves like canned sardines: Lio settling on his back between the casual spread of Galo’s legs, with Meis and Gueira pressed up tight on either side, arms hanging over chests, limbs locking together. If anyone’s dangling off the side, no one complains.

Meis and Gueira haven't brought extra clothes - Lio figures they don't _have_ many right now, aside from their changes of workout clothes at the station, and the sweats they came in. They seem comfortable enough; it's certainly a step up from the desert, washing their lone outfits in whatever rivers they could find, drying them with their flames.

Lio lets himself remember how he'd taught them control, to use fire as a tool and not just as a weapon. He'd shown them the holes in their armor, how to reinforce their defenses. There are nights where he frets that maybe if he'd been stronger, had led _them_ to be stronger, they might have saved more people, prevented more suffering.

But there would've been no Galo. No Lio de Galon.

Lio feels himself drift, his head fuzzy, senses dulling. Someone’s playing with his hair, and he’s slipping away.

“Y’know hotshot,” he hears, faraway; it must be Gueira. “You took good care of him. I gotta thank you.”

“Saved his life.” Meis, probably. Everything sounds like it’s underwater. “Can’t ever repay that.”

Galo answers them, but his words slip from Lio's grasp like sand, something something _you did too...all did our best,_ something something _would do it all again._ He hears himself hum, wanting to add to the conversation, but his brain just keeps misfiring.

Fond chuckling, arms tightening around him, the triumphant yet wistful lull of credits music. He’s vaguely aware of being lifted up; Galo'd never get away with a bridal carry, if Lio were fully aware of himself. Galo’s voice is quiet, distant. “...get the firebug to bed...here if you need...night…” and the world goes dark.

Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ

On his best days, Lio can talk about what he loves about Galo for hours, but _this_ image - bench pressing the weight equivalent of three Lios, breath controlled and brow furrowed, the planes of his chest and arms contracting and twitching gorgeously - is enough to rend all semblance of spoken language from his brain.

He'd worn a tank top when they started - Lio could swear he picked that particular one for being two sizes too small, two inches too short. It'd been tossed into the locker room not fifteen minutes past his warm-up, unable to contain him. As much as Galo likes to show off, it's probably not his current objective, yet he's silently drinking in the silent attention he's receiving from all three of them anyway.

Remi and Ignis have been putting them through their paces: going over paperwork, basic tours of the facility, and giving written tests that the boys have more or less aced. But most of their physical training has been with Galo, occasionally in their downtime. Ignis had been grateful both for their display of dedication, and for having it taken off of his own plate.

As much as Meis and Gueira might bitch and moan when the morning alarm rudely demands them to begin, they keep an admirable pace, following Galo's careful coaching. This session is closer to a normal gym workout, though by now Gueira and Meis are no strangers to more practical applications: carrying sandbags, climbing endless stairs.

About an hour and a half in, Galo calls them off. Lio and the others gather together, watching as Galo turns his back to them, the sweat-misted muscles of his back rippling as he wipes at his face with a towel.

"You really have to look at that all the time," Gueira asks, hushed, "all day, and not jump his bone?"

Lio's eyelashes flutter, a chuckle rumbling through him like a sigh. "I'm glad someone understands my pain."

"We gotta put up with just as much," Meis insists, fingers brushing his wrist. He even _winks,_ the fucker. Lio would've flinched away from (almost) anyone else, but something warm flutters inside him at the touch.

The rest of the plan for the day is an informal rundown of Galo's first-aid supplies, and what situations they're used for. Lio's been given these explanations already, so he serves as a good middle ground between Galo and the boys, while still being in the position to learn something new himself.

"I'm surprised you don't have more medical training, honestly," Galo tells him quietly, "with your history."

Lio winces, despite the astute observation. Meis and Gueira have been urging him to forgive himself, so he manages to swallow his cresting wave of guilt. "Usually didn't need it, with the Promare," he clarifies.

"Oh, right," Galo murmurs. "Not everyone could do that?"

Self-consciousness is a chaser to the uncomfortable cocktail in his stomach. "Self-regeneration was a basic ability; anyone could easily master it. But, uhm…"

"Boss was so badass, he could heal other people too!" Gueira finishes.

"He's all shy about it, but he really was incredible," Meis adds, grinning with all his teeth. Lio doesn't pay much mind to the past tense.

Galo chuckles affirmatively, like it's nothing new to hear. "In our line of work, that would be awfully helpful." He unpacks the contents of his first aid kit on the counter, until the bag is empty. "But in a post-Promare world, we only have the wonders of manmade medicine - "

"Hey, uh - is that - ?" Meis interrupts, trailing off.

Gueira deadpans, "Condoms, and lube. In your first aid kit."

Galo flushes a shade of red that rivals his work pants, and Lio stifles his own chortling with a hand over his mouth. Galo shoves the incriminating items back in the bag, and tries to stammer his way out: " - it's just extra - I mean - y'never know!" but Lio just pats him on the shoulder.

"Too late," he whispers under the din of snickering.

"I'm sure learning a lot," Gueira wheezes.

"Always prepared, huh big guy?" adds Meis.

Galo's face doesn't get much less red as he gives a rundown of his supplies - including a few demonstrations, though perhaps not the ones Meis and Gueira have in mind. They mostly stay on track, peppering in questions that even Galo seems impressed by, though they break out into giggles every so often that manage to be quickly smothered.

Lio'd be lying if he denied having a few fits of laughter himself.

Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ

"Look down," Meis requests.

Galo finds it difficult; he's never seen Meis like this - his hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, his bangs tucked behind his pierced ears, his worn tank top tight around his torso despite the straps starting to hang off of his shoulders. He already finds Meis attractive, sure, but they've never been this deliberately close - and certainly not alone.

But he's here, sitting in his bathroom on one of the old metal folding chairs that used to belong to the station. Meis' gloved hands are sectioning off parts of Galo's hair to clip them back. He doesn't want it bleached again, mostly because it's a hassle, but also because he hopes something about leaving his roots intact will make him feel like he's grown somehow.

And if he changes his mind, it's just hair. Hopefully Meis would help him again if that time comes.

Meis has a little plastic kit, dusty and beat up and covered in stickers, full of his brushes and clips. A box of foil is half-hanging over the basin of the sink, next to a pristine drugstore bag.

"You sure you have everything you need?" Galo asks, but it would be a bit late if the answer was _no_ , because Meis is already sticking a square of foil under a section of his hair.

"'Course," Meis replies coolly. "Worked with way less than this before."

Galo thinks that over. "How many people have you done this for?"

(How many of those times has he had a proper four walls around him for it, not to mention running water, the means to buy the dye rather than steal it - ?)

"Being a teenager's hard enough as it is, yeah?" Meis returns, after a long moment. "Imagine waking up with freaky powers on top of that. Your government wants you locked up, your friends are afraid of you. But you're still _you._ "

Galo _does_ imagine it; he has been for a while - undoing years of conditioning, wanting so badly to understand.

"So I started doing this," Meis continues, brushing color against the hair over the foil. "For me, and for all the other kids runnin' with us that wanted it. Couldn't control being Burnish, but you can control your hair, right?"

It's harder than ever now for Galo to stay still, latent anger burning inside him with nowhere to direct it. "I wish I could've known," he says through his teeth. "Coulda stopped it. You've all hurt so much."

Meis sets the brush down.

He tilts Galo's chin up with a finger to meet his eyes, more of a suggestion, while his other hand holds the foil in place. "Hey, big guy," Meis soothes. "You did all you could, just like you said. And you were there when it really mattered. Don't beat yourself up, okay? I know I don't."

Meis points Galo's face back toward the floor, and calmly resumes his work. Galo breathes out long again, irritated that he let himself get worked up. He should be the one comforting Meis, not the other way around.

"So when'd you start?" Meis asks, like a sheet of rain cutting through a swelling fire.

"Oh," Galo starts. "I stayed over at a friend's house in elementary school, and they did it on a dare. I thought it looked cool, but I got in _soo_ much trouble when I got home." (He waves away the unpleasant memories that usually follow this one like a cloud of smoke.) "So...when I found out someone could help me keep it up, I went with it. Makes me feel like myself, I guess? I wish I had a better reason."

"Who says you need one?" Meis rolls up the foil; Galo thinks this is the third one, but he's already lost count. He glances up through his lashes and watches Meis' long, deliberate fingers work with a practiced confidence, obvious even under the barriers of the gloves. Then he tries to peek at the mirror beside him, catching the deep wet blues shining on his head in his periphery.

"Never used this kind," Galo muses. "It looks good already!"

"What'd you use before?" Meis asks, concern creeping in.

Galo blinks, recalls. "Only bought it once. Some kinda...Bam, or Blam, or Zam, or somethin' - "

"No wonder you had trouble," Meis bawks. "That shit sucks."

"Oh," Galo says again, eloquently. "It looked okay on the box."

"Photoshop, sweetheart." Meis smiles fondly as he turns back to the counter to mix the dye. Something in Galo's chest goes all floaty.

The silence is comfortable again as Meis approaches the end of his work. Galo closes his eyes, adjusting in his seat as he listens intently to their shared breathing, the rustle of the brush over fiber and metal.

"Okay!" Meis tosses the gloves in the trash and slaps his palms against his thighs, conclusive. "All set, hotshot. Now _don't_ touch it, or I swear - "

Galo stands up beside him and beams at his reflection. "Yay! I love it already!"

Meis chuckles, wrapping an arm around Galo's shoulders. His skin is cold, but his touch is grounding. "Give it an hour, 'kay? Really let it soak in there. Can you be patient for me?"

Galo gives himself another long long in the mirror, an even longer look at him and Meis together.

"Hey, Meis?"

"Yep."

Galo's breath hitches. "I'm sorry I called you a bastard."

Meis just laughs, sudden and sharp. " _That's_ what you're worried about, after everything? You're adorable." He pats Galo on the back, his touch lingering. "But I'm sorry I called you a snowflake. For what it's worth."

An hour later, practically to the second, Meis has him kneeling over the bathtub, re-gloved hands unfurling the foil. Galo wonders if he should've insisted that he can do this part himself, but he can't deny that it feels nice to be taken care of like this.

Lio's washed his hair before; it was a comical affair, with how far Galo had to bend down and how high Lio had to reach up. But Galo fondly remembers Lio's smile then as one of his first favorites - not an ounce of hesitation or reservation. Just happy and in love, in love with _him._

Galo watches the azure water swirl down the drain as Meis massages his scalp. He wonders what Lio and Gueira would be doing if they were here; he figures Gueira would tease them, and maybe Lio would be making out with Gueira to shut him up.

(Not the most realistic or responsible thought, but not unpleasant. He plays it again.)

"I hope this doesn't stain the tub," Galo muses as he wraps his hair in a towel; Meis has to show him how.

"Dude, you've used the shittiest drugstore brand there is," Meis reasons. "If that didn't stain, nothing will."

He sticks his tongue out, and Galo wonders how he's never noticed until now that it's pierced. The ball is only visible for a second, glinting in the light and staying in his vision, but it makes him lightheaded.

He dreams about it that night, long after his hair is dry.

Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ

At Gueira's earlier behest, Galo had explained that his cooking practice had all been fairly recent, mostly when it was his turn to make lunch at the station. He added, embarrassed, that he was working so hard at it because his first few offerings had been less than glamorous.

"Burned hot dogs ain't so bad," Gueira had comforted.

Meis chortled; "They are if they're boiled."

"I've seen you eat dog food, dude."

"Yeah, and dogs deserve better."

It had ended there with a round of hearty laughs, and Galo hasn't given the topic much more thought.

When Galo comes home, Lio is slumped against Gueira on the couch, fast asleep. The sight of Gueira isn't unwelcome, and Lio's here anyway, but the sight of him unannounced makes him worry about the day Lio's had.

Gueira flips up the hand curled around Lio's shoulder in a quick wave. Galo is magnetized to them before he can even take his coat off, affectionately brushing his fingers against the top of Lio's head, smiling.

"First day of testimony against Colossus was today," Gueira explains quietly. "He's beat."

Lio usually explains what he can about the trials, and Galo tries to compartmentalize the important stuff. The process has been slow-going, and Lio's taken the brunt of it, being the most recognizable face of the Burnish. Galo's been urging him to rest more, but Gueira seems to be better at getting him to follow through.

Galo has to wonder why he hasn't been called as a witness against Biar, too, even though he wants to retch at the thought. She's complicit - and she'd tried to kill them - but Galo still remembers her cats' names and her kids' birthdays.

The hearings had started with hands of the Foresight foundation that Galo had barely heard of, but eventually they'll get to Vulcan and the Freeze Force, to Foresight Labs, to Heris. Kray is the final rung; the worst for last, Lio had reasoned. Galo will have his turn, surely; they all will.

"Hey," Gueira says, waving his hand again, redirecting Galo's straying attention. "I'm starvin'."

Gueira repositions Lio until he supports his own weight on the couch. He stands, pulling a blanket over Lio's peaceful, reposed form. His feet are quiet in his socks as he heads for the kitchen. He hoists himself on his knees on the counter, digging through the cupboards, half of his body practically inside one. His hand reaches toward the back of one of the highest shelves.

Before Galo can ask what he's doing, Gueira's already dismounting back to the floor, two snack cakes stuffed in his mouth, unwrapping a granola bar to follow them. Galo's stash of junk food is so well hidden that he often forgets about it himself. He should probably be angry, but he's kind of glad to see it be raided rather than go to waste.

(That whole etiquette conversation should probably get bumped up. But Lio is better at all that stuff anyway.)

"These're so fuckin' good," Gueira says; Galo barely parses the mess of muffled vowels through his mouthful. Gueira eventually swallows, looking excited to speak. "Could never find 'em on the road, man. Best shit _ever. _"__

Galo chuckles. "Well, you've gotta eat more than _that._ I'd be a terrible host if I only let you have junk food." Gueira moves onto the granola bar, letting it hang out of his mouth like a cigarette as he pulls a few things from the cupboard. Flour, sugar, baking powder. Through all of it, Lio hasn't even stirred. Galo's glad that Lio's becoming a heavier sleeper; he used to startle awake in the dead of night at the slightest sound.

"Didn't take you for a baker, Thymos," Gueira says. The sound of his surname stiffens Galo's spine; only Lio and Ignis really call him that anymore; the latter when he's in trouble, and the former under...more intimate circumstances.

"Oh, I'm not really," Galo explains, scratching at the back of his neck. "It was Aina's birthday a few weeks back. I told her I'd bake her a cake. Uh...Lio had to help me, 'cuz I burned the first one."

Gueira snorts. "So you had _two_ burnt cakes."

"Yep," Galo confirms.

"There's hope to make an arsonist out of you after all, huh?" Gueira's poking in the lower drawers now, examining Galo's mismatched set of measuring cups.

Galo blushes, pivoting the conversation. "You bake?"

"Cake's a bit of a bitch, but cookies are pretty easy. Baking's all about measuring and stuff, but you can be a little off with cookies an' they'll still be edible." Gueira stalks through the fridge, finding the eggs he's looking for. "Meis doesn't really like chocolate, so I don't usually use that. What else ya got?"

Galo wants to protest that cookies aren't dinner, but there's such determined purpose to Gueira's movements that it'd probably be difficult to persuade him otherwise. He opens the cabinet over the microwave, mostly home to an assortment of one-time purchases that patiently wait for an extended life. He finds the vial of rainbow confetti sprinkles - the little round kind - that had adorned Aina's disastrous cake.

Gueira exclaims, "Perfect!" before Galo even grabs the bottle. "Cute li'l sugar cookies, that'll be easy."

Gueira moves with choreographed confidence, asking for a bowl and a whisk (apparently grabbing his own utensils and containers is too invasive). He counts on his fingers as he drops cups of flour and sugar into the bowl. Some distant part of Galo's brain is dusting off a dog-eared page that says something about creaming the eggs and sugar together (or maybe it's butter and sugar??), but he's too mesmerized to argue.

"No recipe?" Galo asks.

"Didn't have recipes where we went," Gueira explains. "You gotta learn the rules to break 'em, but you know me a little by now. More often than not, I break 'em. Please tell me you've got butter."

Galo provides it swiftly, and watches Gueira do some mental math with the lines on the side of one of the sticks.

"So, how's your sentence going?" Galo prompts.

Gueira bristles at the word, like a cat puffing its tail. "Meis is doing great," he answers. "He's got a pretty steady gig as a translator at the elementary school downtown, and he loves it. He's thinking about staying after all his hours are clocked in. Chop this up for me, please? Not too small."

The unwrapped stick is passed to Galo, who falls in line dividing it into pats with a knife. "So what about you?"

Gueira measures out the rest of the dry ingredients, his eyes far away. "It's not bad, I guess. Way better than before, better than what they coulda made me do. We did some pretty stupid shit, but looking back, I think we just wanted someone to listen."

The distant look in Gueira's eyes keeps drifting further. Galo pauses to follow it.

"According to Foresight Foundation records," Gueira begins soberly, stirring the batter, " - not that I'd trust those as far as I could throw a Molotov at 'em, but whatever - the average age that a person turned Burnish was 19.2. So I was a rule breaker from jump, 'cuz I was about half that."

Galo thinks about what Meis has told him, piecing it together with some of Lio's stories, plus what he's hearing now. He looks for the cookie sheet that he knows is around, shoved forgotten beside the oven, long-unused and in need of a good wash. He's grateful for the opportunity to busy his hands.

"I was terrified. I didn't tell my folks for years. I tried to control it; I took tai-chi, read all the Burnish forums online. I meditated." Gueira makes a face. "It took lots of self control. More than I've got."

He pokes at the dough to test its consistency, seeming pleased. "But parents always find out, don't they? So one day - oh, thanks, I was just gonna ask for that - " Galo slides the freshly washed and dried pan beside the bowl. "Anyway. The details aren't important. But they were gonna turn me in, no matter how much I begged. So I ran."

He dumps the sprinkles into the dough and keeps mixing; Galo thinks they're supposed to be a garnish, not an add-in, but Gueira's the expert here.

"They were gonna have me arrested. A thirteen year-old kid. They didn't even know what would happen to me, to all of us." He grabs a spoon from the drawer, using it to ball up the dough. "Just blind fear."

As Gueira drops the mostly-uniform globs on the pan, Galo carefully shuffles them so they're evenly spaced. "Then you met Meis?"

"Eventually," Gueira says. "Took a while. I headed west, 'cuz - well, everything's west from Florida, y'know, but - I heard that there were cities out there that were nicer to the Burnish than mine. He was headed east, 'cuz he heard different. Skippin' the boring stuff. Now we're here."

Gueira eventually realizes the oven hasn't been preheating. He bites back an irritated shout, pinching his palm instead, for Lio's sake. Galo just laughs, not having remembered to turn it on either. For long moments, they stare silently at the light inside, feeling the heat slowly grow.

Growing up, Galo hadn't had many people around him to hug or touch when he was sad or scared, and still struggles to get the memo as an adult that some people just aren't into being touched, either. Yet when he reaches for Gueira's hand, Gueira doesn't pull away, letting him linger like a bird stopping at a branch.

"As much awful stuff as you all went through, I'm glad you can better yourselves now," Galo tells him, smiling. "But between you and me, I'm realizing you weren't too bad from the start."

"Oh, don't butter me up now, hotshot," Gueira returns, jabbing at Galo's shoulder. Galo's skin is still warm where their hands have touched. "At least I can be honest when I say you're just as insufferable now as you were back then."

Galo beams. "Thanks!"

A sleepy groan catches their attention, followed by Lio's trodding footsteps, seeming too heavy for his slight frame. "What's for dinner," he slurs as he crosses the threshold into the kitchen.

"Cookies," Gueira tells him, like this is a normal occurrence. When Lio glances incredulously at Galo, he just gives an affirming nod.

"Cool," Lio answers simply. "But you can't just ransack people's kitchens anymore, okay? Even if you visit all the time."

Gueira deflates. "C'mon, Boss, it's _Galo!_ And you!"

Lio nods sagely. "I'm still not above holding a kindergarten-level Blending Into Modern Society course for you and Meis. Galo probably has a thing or two to learn, too."

"Hey," Galo protests, "I had to teach you how to brew coffee when you moved in!"

With a fond sigh, Lio acquiesces. "Okay. We _all_ have a lot to learn."

Meis arrives around the time 'dinner' is done. In either a display of psychic ability or through plenty of experience with all of the chaotic men in his life, he's procured a stack of appetizers from the pizza place down the street to supplement it. It's still a far cry from healthy or well-planned, but it works for tonight.

Gueira was mostly right - the cookies are...edible, despite the questionable methods in which they were brought into the world.

"New rule," Lio decrees, as his teeth audibly crack against the inlaid sprinkles in his cookie. "We're not cooking in this house without a recipe again."

Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ

There's almost a routine, eventually. Gueira and Meis end up staying over once or twice a week - not overnight at first, but on one occasion they bring a duffel bag along, making their intentions clear enough.

No proprietary boundary exists between anyone anymore; Meis is laying across Lio's lap, and Galo's squeezed between him and Gueira, the latter's back pressed to Galo's chest. Lio has an arm thrown over Meis' waist, the other around Galo's shoulder, fingers looping in Gueira's hair.

All of the shards of glass that have been stuck in Lio's nervous system start to pull free and swirl together, reshaping into something glowing and whole. The air filling his lungs has never tasted so sweet; he breathes deeper and fuller than he's allowed himself in years. He holds it until his ribs crack, fearful of the feeling fleeting.

"Hey," Galo murmurs. His hand finds Lio's and squeezes, but Galo's turned away from him, toward Gueira. "Can I kiss you?"

All of Lio's planets freeze in their orbit and careen into each other - a single fiery, destructed mass. Gueira ducks his head, concerned gaze meeting Lio's. Lio gives a tiny nod, squeezing Galo's hand. Gueira doesn't need further prompting; his mouth slots to Galo's, a hand tangling in his hair.

(Would it always have been this easy, Lio wonders, or has every look, every touch, every word over the past few months had to occur in perfect sequence, woven seamlessly just to lead here, right now?)

Meis reaches up a hand up to Lio, tugging gently at the collar of his shirt to urge him down. He meets Lio halfway, arms thrown around Lio's shoulders, kissing him fervently.

"Mm, fuckin' _finally._ " Meis rasps, sucking sweetly at Lio's bottom lip. The stars peppering Lio's vision explode behind his eyes. He's only kissed Galo lately - all wet enthusiasm and breathy, happy gasps - but Meis plays the long game, alternating depth and pace, never complacent. Lio's missed it.

Meis breaks away to sit up, holding himself up on his knees, straddling one of Lio's thighs. He commandeers all of Lio's attention, fingers resting gently at the side of his throat, tongue snaking past his lips and going in for his kill. Many of Lio's walls from before have since disintegrated; his heart is more eager to be held.

Lio steals a glance beside him with a cracked-open eye: Galo and Gueira are practically wrestling in their kiss, twin sparklers heedless of what scorches in their path. Gueira's got Galo pinned, a hand splayed against his bare chest. Galo is already under, if his heavy breathing and lidded eyes are any indication. Gueira eyes him like something caught, to be toyed with. He's gotten that look from Galo a couple of times now, but never Gueira. It's a good look on him.

The hand still holding Lio's pulls away with a final gentle squeeze. Galo's hands settle on Gueira's waist, huge and securing, squeezing briefly before lifting Gueira's shirt over his head. Gueira looks a little bewildered for once, buying Galo time to lean forward and graze his teeth against the tattoo on Gueira's collarbone.

Meis turns Lio's face back with a finger under his chin, reclaiming his mouth. Lio strains to take in Gueira's groan over the rush of blood in his own ears.

Still, his selfishness reigns. His body, his soul demand more.

"Gueira," he breathes; Gueira pulls back from Galo as if by the tug of an invisible wire, keeping a finger against Galo's jaw.

"Here, Boss," Gueira assures. He sways toward Lio, and Meis relinquishes his mouth so Gueira can have a turn. Galo sighs dreamily beside him, twisting toward them to take in the view. His fingers graze Lio's wrist, thumbing his pulse. As if Lio could ever forget he's here.

Gueira kisses like Galo, except without fear of using his full strength, no inhibition about throwing his weight. Lio had loved that about him on the nights that the world felt too big, too cold. Gueira can see Lio at his most vulnerable, and only thinks him stronger for it.

Meis and Gueira both start kissing him at once; it's challenging to divide his attention, but they don't seem bothered. He can feel Galo's eyes on him, heavy and waiting, fingers brushing across his thigh.

"You just gonna watch, Thymos?" Lio manages above the two mouths ravishing him; it's not a fair question, because there's not much room for Galo to participate from here. Is Lio asking too much in this moment, for three mouths and six hands?

"If I was a betting man - " Gueira pants.

" - which you are," Lio retorts.

"I'd say he's enjoying it." Gueira's spit-slicked grin lifts toward Galo's face, and Meis takes full reign of their kiss again.

"Of course! A real man knows when to appreciate beauty, yeah?" Galo pivots on his knees for better leverage, bending to nuzzle against Lio's ear. "I know when to act, and I know when to sit it out."

"Really got it bad, don't you?" Meis teases into Lio's open mouth.

"Oh, please," Galo rasps, pawing at the top of Lio's shirt, lips grazing his collarbone. "Like you didn't wanna jump me from the first time you met me."

"Nah," Gueira says, unconvincing. "Boss sure did, though."

Lio groans, wanting to speak, and Meis backs off to kiss at the side of his neck instead. "Mostly wanted to wipe that smug look off your face." He presses his lips to Galo's hairline, which is all he can reach from here.

"Why don't you?" Galo dares, touching their noses together. Normally he loves Galo in this mood, but it doesn't suit Lio right now.

"Plenty of time for that," Lio answers, wrangling an arm to gently pat at Galo's chest, urging him to sit back. "You wanna watch so bad, you can be patient."

Galo briefly pouts, but he knows that Lio is a man of his word, more than capable of following through with his threats and his promises. "Got it, Big Boss."

"You smug little brat," Gueira seethes, cut with a fondness that Lio finds all too familiar. He leans in to where Galo's settled against the back of the couch, gripping him by the jaw, licking into his mouth. Galo sighs into it, leaning further back, vulnerable.

"Leave him," Lio commands. "He'll have to wait."

Gueira trades Galo's mouth for Lio's, leaving Galo looking dizzy and bereft. It reminds Lio of their first night all together, when Gueira had kissed him on the cheek; so recent, yet so long ago. He licks Gueira's lips and tastes Galo.

"Puttin' on a show, huh, Boss?" Meis' hands are anchored to Lio wherever he can reach, waiting for further instruction. Lio's proud of him for maintaining his obedience, his watchfulness. It had served them well on the run once it'd been honed, but Lio appreciates that it can be put to more enjoyable use now.

"Gueira, Meis." Their attention is glued to him, breath bated for him. "Why don't you show him how to make me feel good."

The role he's stepping into feels like a new armor, thrilling and untouched. On the coldest nights, Lio had proved himself an astute lover - efficient, yet tender, holding no quarter and accepting no less from his partners. Sparks had lit across skin where their fingertips brushed, mouths alight where they met. Purely an endorphin release, a redistribution of the weight on everyone's shoulders.

Gueira initiates, rising from the couch and moving the ottoman a couple of feet out, directly across from Galo. He makes a bit of a show of taking off his pants and kicking them away, sitting on the ottoman with a slight spread of his legs, his underwear barely concealing his half-mast dick. He pats his thigh. "Have a seat, Boss."

Lio peels off his shirt, letting it fall across the back of the couch, pants undone and abandoned on the floor. He stands up and turns around, settling on Gueira's lap. His hands run up and down Lio's arms, almost mistakable for soothing if not for the teasing drag of his nails. Meis kneels to the floor between Lio's spread legs, following similar procedure over the pale musculature of his thighs, twitching instinctively away from the influx of attention.

Meis unbuttons his own jeans, palming himself with one hand while the other wraps around Lio's cock. He feels Gueira sigh into his neck, mouthing at the skin there. A world away, he hears Galo's breathing get heavier. He continues to pretend for the time being that his audience is further out of reach, driving his anticipation higher.

Meis' hooded eyes lock on Lio's, mouth closing over the head of Lio's dick. When Lio feels himself bonelessly fall backwards, Gueira is there to catch him, only to spur him even higher. His hands skirt up across Lio's ribs and rub at his nipples and Lio gasps, eyes squeezing shut. Meis has him all the way down now, sucking hard and holding as Lio hits the back of his throat. He thinks he'd love nothing more than to stay suspended like this, but his body disagrees, nerves sparking and blood boiling and demanding more, more, always _more._

Lio spares a glance at Galo, white-knuckling the fabric of his pants. Meis' head is bobbing on Lio's dick, tongue tapping against the underside. Lio can see the moment Galo's face registers Meis' piercing; his mouth hangs open, eyes widening and dark. He thinks for a minute that Galo might be drooling. The chuckle that escapes him at the thought sounds like a moan.

Lio thrusts his hips in helpless little circles, and Meis welcomes it, gripping his waist and pulling him in with every stroke. With every backward thrust Lio can feel Gueira's cock hardening against his ass, before springing into the practiced vice of Meis' mouth.

Gueira and Meis remember his body's tics after all this time, fully focused on making him feel good rather than simply fulfilling a task. In turn, his body remembers them, too, familiar heat wrapped in deep affection. Less procedural, more demonstrative.

Before, when they'd excelled at taking him down and making him come, he'd only chalked it up to his lieges being fast learners, eager to move on to the next objective, be it sleeping or foraging or keeping watch. Lio traces the ache in his chest back to this point, from where it had been buried deep under more pressing matters of the time.

But those locks have since been released.

Galo's rising desperation is palpable, every ounce of his self control keeping him still, despite his indignant whining. It's a beautiful sight, but Lio thinks he's ready for more.

"Galo." The sound sends a shiver through Galo's body, making him rapt and alert. "You can touch yourself, baby. Go ahead."

He's seen Galo move pretty damn fast, in and out of life-or-death scenarios, but never as fast as he does when he unzips his pants and wriggles them below his hips, a relieved groan escaping him at the first touch to his own cock. He's already fully hard, swollen and dark, a sheen of wetness visible over the head if Lio strains to see it.

That takes care of one, but the other two won't let him slide, quickly pulling him back under their waves. Moments later, creeping up on him like a sucker punch, Lio comes; his intimacy with Galo is frequent enough that he's not as sensitive as he used to be, but the overabundance of sensation and attention proves to be too much to draw out, too heavy to hold for long. Meis swallows him eagerly, and Gueira clings to him, gritting pretty encouragements against his ear as he comes down.

"He's next," Lio tells them, more breath than voice. Meis is the first to move, fully removing his pants and slotting up against Galo's side. Lio falls to a kneel in the spot Meis has vacated, and Gueira fills in the spot opposite Meis. Both eagerly kiss him at once, the same kind of overload they'd subjected Lio to earlier. Galo pants and writhes, the hand around his own cock falling away as Meis and Gueira each get a hold on him and pump in unison. It's blessed and impressive and unfair all at once that even their two hands can't quite cover the surface area of Galo's length, but above all Lio decides it's beautiful, fascinating.

Galo palms Gueira and Meis clumsily through their boxers, earning a few nips to his lips and jaw. He watches Lio crawl on his knees to fill the gap between Galo's thighs, grasping Galo's disheveled pants and pulling, assisted by a shivery lift of his hips. Lio pools them around Galo's feet, hands tracing the frankly ridiculous muscles of his calves, up to scratch at the insides of his thighs, kissing the inside of a knee as he goes.

It's obvious that Galo's not going to last, a high whimper cracking at the end of every gasp. Keeping a firm grip, Lio closes his mouth around the head of Galo's cock, peeking out from Gueira and Meis' ministrations, tongue licking languidly and dipping into the slit. That's all Galo needs, coming with an unrestrained shout. Lio swallows what he can, wiping what he can't from his mouth with the back of his hand.

Galo heaves a sigh but doesn't settle down, still trying his best to stroke Gueira and Meis off despite the awkward angle. Lio hops up on the couch, tugging Gueira into his lap as Meis crawls on top of Galo, paired-off mirror images. Meis falls over the edge first, groaning into Galo's mouth and clawing at his shoulder, followed shortly by Gueira, falling bonelessly over Lio's body, face pressed against Lio's neck.

After several suspended moments, sharing breath and heat, the pairs collapse and melt together, spilling over the arms of the couch. Lio ends up squashed and squirming under everyone's weight. Galo is the first to manage standing, still regaining his balance, his smile warm and giddy. He's kicked his pants off all the way, unabashed about his own nakedness. Already back to normality, or maybe nothing has really changed after all.

Maybe this is their normal.

Galo beckons them down the hall, like he knows exactly what he's doing. Gueira and Meis file into the bedroom without even being directed, and Galo readies a cloth to clean them all up from the bathroom right across it, like the damn gentleman he is.

Galo's bed is comically huge - something Lio had initially decried, before realizing it was the nicest bed he'd ever laid on. Meis drags their duffel bag in, and he and Gueira slip on clean boxers, sitting on the far edge. Lio briefly shuffles away to brush his teeth.

Gueira lets his gaze linger for a while on the taped-together matoi leaning against the dresser, and Galo preemptively puffs up like a porcupine. "Hey, it's my heritage, man! You come into a man's home, you respect his matoi - "

"Relax, hotshot, I'm just lookin'." Gueira flutters a hand in Galo's direction disarmingly. "I mean, I can think of nicer lookin' things to stare at all night, but...it's kinda cool, thinkin' about it."

Lio returns to watch Galo's mouth drop open, closing, opening again. His defenses drop, shoulders settling. "Really?"

Gueira stammers, like there's a compliment stuck in his throat. Meis chuckles and reaches for him, tugging him down to lie flat on the bed.

"The fire…" Gueira murmurs to the new stillness in the room. "It was beautiful as it burned. Nothin' ever made me feel more alive." He scooches down to settle his head on Meis' lap, sighing contentedly. "But I guess there's beauty in putting it out, too. If you squint."

Galo's hands cover his mouth, giddy, feet briefly stamping. "I'm so glad you understand!" he cries, practically twirling, before determination sets his jaw, straightens his posture. "Though your ideals may not fully align, you too can feel the passion of the immortal hikeshi spirit!"

"Yeah, dude," Gueira affirms, snuggling against Meis' thigh. "I'll feel the passion tomorrow though, 'm sleepy."

Galo's arms wrap around Lio, as safe and adoring as every hug he's ever given. Lio sighs against his chest, unable to measure the force of everything he lets go with it.

Once everyone claims a space across the surface area of the bed, they make compromises; even for this behemoth, holding four grown men is still a tall order. As before, with their imaginary walls sufficiently broken down, no one's shy about taking up space over someone else's body, and having their own space taken in turn.

In the dead of night, half-consciousness grips Lio before anyone else. Arms and legs are thrown over him like blankets, triplet-snores invading his ears and dampening the romanticism of the moonlight filtering through the window. Not that he's ever cared about that stuff much anyway.

He's been shuffled to the middle, almost protectively. Certainly none of them can be comfortable; even laying down he can tell that Meis probably has a leg dangling over the edge. Yet what he can see of their faces is contented, lost completely to peaceful sleep.

Lio's mind wanders, stuck on the four shirts and pairs of pants strewn haphazardly across the couch and the living room floor. A sudden burst of energy compels him to tidy up, but he's far too woven underneath the nest of bodies to consider moving.

Tomorrow's a new day, the next chapter of a hundred new beginnings. The mess will still be there, and his boys will, too.

Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ

"C'mon, Boss, put that dooowwn!" Gueira's tugging at Lio's tablet, other hand fretting at the hem of his shirt. They're all exhausted from an intense training day, so Lio doesn't expect anything to go too far tonight, yet they're all bundled together on the couch and stripping each other's clothes anyway. So much for working on the budget proposal.

Did they even ask Meis and Gueira to come over tonight? Did they just follow him and Galo home? It's been three nights since they've stayed at their own apartment; he's afraid of the space they're paying for going to waste.

But if they're happy, he can't help but to be pulled under their current. Lio sets the tablet aside, after tapping out a final note to himself for later. Gueira victoriously pulls Lio's shirt over his head (they should probably just keep a hamper in the living room at this point), his hands gentle and listless for all of their previous hurry.

Meis has nestled against Galo, close enough that his feet are brushing Lio's knees, with Gueira climbing over the middle of the pile. He's less actively exploring and more riding down a lazy river, fingers tracing the tightly-wound tendons of Galo's arms, dancing between his burn scars.

Lio told Gueira and Meis about being inside of the Core, even though he doesn't remember much of it (Galo had filled in the gaps). After the fall of the Parnassus, awakening in his hospital bed, he'd noticed the pale, uneven bands forming scars around the tops of his arms and thighs, a crosshatch of cuts across his chest from where he'd been reformed. Galo had seemed to notice one night; the discovery had made him grow quiet, gentle.

Gueira gingerly traces the scars, thumb swiping over them when he's done like he's fitting the lid back over Pandora's box. Lio would normally be bothered by the scrutiny, but he waits, watches. Gueira's gaze is a mix of glittering melancholy and profound gratitude, and he holds Lio under it until the gap between them feels too wide. He crashes against Lio in a spindly hug, volatile emotionality spilling over.

"Ow, asshole," Meis complains as Gueira's knees squish into the back of his calves. Gueira scoffs playfully, adjusting to Lio's opposite side, and Lio takes the few inches he's given to scoot closer to the other two. There. Perfect.

"You need a bigger couch," Gueira mumbles against Lio's collarbone, but Lio can tell it's meant for Galo.

"In my defense," Galo returns, "this couch did just fine for years, when my butt was the only one sitting on it."

"It's approaching the end of its life," Meis adds in, "as all things do."

"'Kay, Confucius." Gueira gives a friendly pat to Meis' thigh.

"Where do people get couches," Galo wonders aloud, on a planet all his own.

"Oh my God," Meis says. "He's precious."

Lio pulls his phone from his pocket and taps away. "There's a furniture store in the Astoria Plaza, so - shit, has that one been rebuilt yet?"

"Almost," Galo answers. "But nope."

"You know that, but you don't know what a furniture store is?" Gueira inquires with a cocked eyebrow.

"I _do_ know, I didn't think about it." Galo whines. "I helped clear it out, so it's in my head. Blow me."

"Boss," Gueira pivots, "with all due respect, what is it with you and big dopey bottoms?"

"He's not a bottom," Lio says easily.

"Oh, shit." Meis giggles in anticipation.

"He...Really? Does he fuck you?" Gueira's not shy about this kind of talk, but Lio can swear his face is going red, and his voice cracks unusually high.

Lio and Galo's shared, sheepish grin seems to be the only answer Gueira needs.

"Don't pout," Meis tells him.

"He's like three times my size!" Gueira cries. "The fuck does he _fit?_ "

"He's not half the brute you are," quips Lio.

"Is it bad," Galo interjects softly, "that I fuck you? I'm confused."

"He's just a bad sport, baby," Lio soothes.

"Thirsty bad sport," Meis adds.

"Oh, noo," Gueira sarcastically drawls, "my super sexy fearless leader is hopelessly attractive and I was kinda hoping to fuck him someday, but he's _all_ top _all_ the time. Woe is me, I'm the worst."

It's freeing to be able to talk like this, to share histories and fantasies, lay everything on the table and flay it open. Lio deftly curls his fist at the top of the shirt Gueira's still wearing for some reason, pulling him forward until their foreheads touch.

"You think _that's_ what you want," Lio murmurs, low and dark, breath ghosting over parted lips. "You haven't seen Galo on his knees."

"Hah," Gueira breathes, unable to wriggle away from Lio's gaze to supplement the image. "Yeah, that's good too."

Meis is kissing Galo now, probably winding a hand in his hair if Galo's broken keen is any indication. Clearly he's taken with the idea, too.

Lio's about to go on about the pretty blush that dusts Galo's shoulders when Lio breaks him down, the way his toes curl when he's close - but Galo beats him to the next word.

"I," he gasps against Meis' mouth, and Meis relents to let him speak. "Can we, sometime? I'd like that."

"Yeah?" says Lio. He can't quite reach Galo with Gueira sprawled over him, and Meis keeping Galo to himself. "You'd like that, let us fuck you?"

"On the bed," Galo insists. Dreamy, redundant. "Couch is too small."

"Do we really get to keep him?" Gueira chuckles.

Galo has a hand wrapped around Meis' waist, the other reaching across the back of the couch to play with Lio's hair. All of Lio's instinct betrays him as he leans into the touch.

"I like this," Galo says. "Us, together. Are we together?"

"I don't think you're getting rid of us now," Meis answers. "As long as you get a bigger couch."

"Where else can we get a couch," Galo muses, in the middle of a break from his mouth being ravished.

As capable as Galo is of throwing metaphorical weight around, holding enough self-assurance for a small army, he tends to crumble under strong affection. Lio's always amazed by it - the ability to make someone so loud and brash fall under such a spell.

It makes him feel strangely better, seeing that Meis and Gueira can do it too.

Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ

"Wow." Galo's fingers trace the lines of ink forming a tribal dragon that curls up Gueira's calf, around his inner thigh. "Meis did this?"

"Sure did," Gueira answers proudly. He's splayed out on the bed in just his boxers, letting Galo feel him up like a topographical map. Meis sits at his opposite side, fingers idly playing with his hair, tracing paths down his neck and chest. "Middle of the desert in an abandoned shopping mall, you believe that? Still had electricity somehow, shoddy as it was. Didn't get electrocuted, though."

"I'm glad," Galo says, kissing the dragon's horns.

Gueira is drinking in the affection, content to lie back and be touched. Lio is a little more distant tonight, settled sideways in the chair in the corner of the bedroom, legs dangling over the side. He's plunking away at his tablet, fondly remembering when _he_ was the one spread under Galo's careful hands, being revered. It'd scared the hell out of him, the way most kindnesses used to. But it was a barrier so willing to be broken, a shine he was more than happy to place in Galo's shimmering eyes.

"I've gotta go over it again," Meis says, to counter the weight of Galo's praise, Gueira's pride. "Once I get my gun fixed."

"Noooo," Gueira moans, throwing an arm over his eyes. "It's perfect, don't touch it!"

Lio chuckles. "Better to do it now that we've settled down," he offers, still typing away. "You're lucky you didn't get hepatitis out there, y'know."

"We went through enough bloodwork and shit after the Blaze that we'd know if we had anything by now," Meis muses. Gueira absentmindedly works through the little tangles in the curtain of black hair splayed above his head.

"Anything?" Galo chirps.

Gueira shuffles, lifting his leg onto Galo's lap. "Are we still talking about the tat gun, or - "

"You're not getting out of wearing protection," Lio warns.

They all grunt affirmatively.

(Maybe he's being a hypocrite, since Meis sucked him off bare two nights ago. But he still has standards, dammit.)

Galo moves higher, ignoring the ember of interest that Gueira's dick is showing, eyeing another tattoo just below Gueira's navel. It's a little butterfly, maybe two inches wide, mostly a black silhouette until the edges of its wings bloom into finer lines and markings, suggestions of light and shadow.

"Cool," Galo fawns. "This one too?"

Gueira nods enthusiastically, and Meis bends to kiss him to hide the pink in his cheeks.

"That's the first one I ever did," he murmurs into Gueira's neck, suddenly shy.

"How much does it hurt?" Galo asks, tracing the antennae with his nails. Gueira squirms away, ticklish.

"It's like being stabbed with a hot knife a million times," Gueira says, and Galo winces. "But we didn't feel the burn. So it was like a normal knife."

"You thinkin' you want one?" Meis inquires, eyes brightening.

"I need to think about it more," Galo answers, lips caressing the butterfly's wings.

Something about the thought of Galo under Meis' needle pokes at a tender spot in Lio. Gueira already had all of his tattoos when they'd met. Their time together had been too much of a whirlwind for Lio to ask about it, or for Meis to bring it up.

He sets the tablet down and pads to the bed, warmth coiling in his gut. He runs his fingers down the back of Galo's neck, feeling him melt, head resting against Gueira's stomach.

"I'll think about it too," Lio says, scratching at Galo's scalp. Meis' answering smile is positively _radiant_.

Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ

"Be patient," he tells Galo, whose hips obediently fall still.

Lio's got a nice view of Gueira's fingers stretching Galo open. Galo's always a pretty sight like this, pulled into a perfect kneel. But now, centered in Meis and Gueira's gravity, under Lio's own attention, he's simply _breathtaking_.

Galo's perched at the edge of the bed, with Meis kneeling on the floor in front of him. Lio has to imagine the sight of Galo's cock disappearing into Meis' mouth from where he's standing; what he's doing to pull out those sweet, disconsolate whimpers, distinguished from Gueira's work behind him.

Maybe some things are better left to the imagination. Until he decides, not tonight.

Lio circles around to Galo's edge of the bed, eyes locking on him intently. Gueira strokes a hand down Galo's back as he groans, struggling not to thrust back. Lio plants his feet on either of Meis' waist, leaning in until his forehead is inches from Galo's, feeling him shudder.

"Doing well?" Lio asks, almost clinical if not for the rasp underneath, the graze of fingers against Galo's jaw.

Galo exhales shakily, one hand gripping the sheets beside him. "It's...so much. So good." He still manages a smile that reaches his eyes, despite biting his lip. "I wanna take whatever you give me."

Lio takes his mouth, and Galo pushes a high, eager sound into the kiss. Meis and Gueira are keeping a reckless tempo, and Lio smirks against their collision as Galo's jaw falls slack.

"But you want more, don't you?" Lio rasps, teeth grazing his jaw. "All of us, working so hard for you, and it's not enough, is it?"

Galo whines, reaching forward to grasp Lio's waist, but Lio's already pulling away. He makes sure Galo keeps his balance before returning to the opposite edge of the bed.

"Gueira," says Lio.

"Think he's ready for you, Boss," Gueira confirms, fingers still fucking in and out of Galo, having moved up to three since Lio stopped looking.

"On your back, then," Lio tells him.

There's no comfort in Gueira's retreat, and Galo moans at the loss of him. Lio sees the tips of Meis' fingers where they grip further up Galo's hips, picking up the slack, pulling him further in.

Gueira rotates until he's settled comfortably in the middle of the bed, head on the pillows. Lio watches his eyes flutter closed as he catches his breath.

"Meis," Lio continues, receiving a hum that reverberates around Galo's dick before he pulls off completely.

Galo looks boneless with nothing to hold him up, so Meis steadies him with both hands and a quick kiss. He pushes gently at Galo's shoulders, not so much moving him as guiding him to the next step.

Meis crawls across the bed, pulling Lio into his orbit. Lio takes the taste of Galo from his lips, hands petting at the silky length of his hair. Galo straddles Gueira's knees, trying to meet Lio's eyes with his own shining, dark gaze.

"Go on," Lio urges from over Meis' shoulder, splitting his attention. Galo's knees scrabble further down the bed; he takes a moment to kiss Gueira's butterfly before licking up the length of his cock. Gueira shudders, electricity running along his spine. His hips aren't careful about holding back, but Galo's hands firmly keep him down once he gets too rough. He takes Gueira deeper at his own pace, ignited by his wildfire.

Lio's own weight dips onto the bed, hands patting at the inside of Galo's knees to inch them forward and apart. He goes easily, hands fitting around Gueira's hip bones, taking him fully inside. Lio runs a hand up and down Galo's broad back; twitching at the first stroke, relaxing visibly at the second.

He scrambles for the container of lube abandoned somewhere in the ocean of tousled sheets and slicks up his cock, inspecting Gueira's work. Galo's hole is just starting to tighten again, reddened and impatient, but apart from his head bobbing on Gueira's dick, he's being so still, so good.

"Beautiful," Lio rasps, teasing nails running down the backs of Galo's thighs. He shivers, but keeps his focus. "Right, boys?"

Lio's amazed at how easily Galo can keep himself in check now; he was all fidgeting limbs and restless thrashes just a few short months ago. Somewhere along the line he's learned how to adjust the temperature of his desire at Lio's careful whim. The biggest difference now is there are a couple of extra pairs of hands playing with the dial.

A breathy duet of "Yeah, boss," reaches Lio's ears amidst their groans; Lio swears he can see the back of Galo's neck turn pink under the praise. He fits himself flush against Galo's hips and languidly guides himself in, pulling a choked gasp from Galo's occupied throat. Gueira groans in blissed-out frustration as Galo's lips stutter over his cock, his hand falling from its grip in Galo's hair to pet at his cheek, pleading. Meis leans in closer to kiss him, a pleasant dual distraction.

Lio bottoms out painstakingly slow, doing his best to embody the tenet of patience he's instilled in Galo. Meis pushes two fingers into Gueira's mouth, fucking in and out, his other hand reaching across the formation of their bodies. His fingers wrap around Galo's cock, still damp from his own mouth. Galo's cries grow longer, higher, indicative of reaching his peak.

Gueira hums, and Meis frees his mouth, stroking at his jaw. "Damn, already?" Gueira teases, all of his edge lost from being out of breath himself. "He always this sensitive, Boss?"

That's not quite fair, Lio thinks, and Gueira knows it. He just can't seem to help getting a word in edgewise.

Lio stills, pinning Gueira with a gaze full of danger and heat. Everyone is aware of the safety net underneath the fire, but sometimes Lio likes to watch them flail in the flames.

"Meis." Lio starts to thrust again, feeling Galo quiver underneath him. "Don't you think Gueira could be doing something better with his mouth?"

Meis chuckles around an _oh, yes sir,_ giving Gueira a bruising kiss before pulling away. Galo whimpers when Meis lets go of his dick, lips pouty and bitten red. One of Meis' legs swings over Gueira's chest, one hand pressed to the headboard.

Gueira's last words are a playful "Come on in," before his jaw falls slack, and Meis obliges.

"You wanna come already, baby?" Lio asks against one of the knobs of Galo's spine. Most nights, Lio might draw this out, but Galo going a second round is nothing new anyway. Galo manages a broken "please", his resolve quickly slipping as he tries to grind against one of Gueira's calves, but the friction isn't enough. Lio gets in one more hard thrust and holds, as Galo's hips work in shallow circles against him.

He reaches around, taking Galo in hand, giving him the last push over the edge that he's waiting for. Galo comes with a grateful cry around Gueira's cock, torn between thrusting backward or bucking into Lio's grip.

Meis leans into a steady tempo as Gueira's hands frame his waist. He's told Lio that he'd never even learned how to ride a horse, no matter how easy the jokes are to make. Seeing him like this - bouncing and bucking, heels grazing against Gueira's ribs like spurs - Lio finds it hard to believe him.

Lio's full attention falls back on Galo, checking his breathing, feeling his heartbeat under his own chest.

"Galo," he calls softly, once Galo returns closer to his baseline. "Do you want to keep going?"

Despite his current position - Lio still inside of him, mouth stuffed with Gueira, still shaky from his orgasm - Galo chuckles, always at his brightest when the odds seem stacked against him.

Galo pulls off of Gueira, panting. "Don't tell me you're givin' up now, Fotia," he rasps, only a little slurred. Lio reaches forward to tilt Galo's jaw toward him with a fingertip, rewarded with the profile of his spit-slicked smirk. "Thought you had more in you than _that._ I told you, whatever you've got, I can take it."

Meis whistles low on his next downstroke, impressed. Lio follows through, backing all the way out until he can look down at the head of his cock nearly pulling free, holding just until he hears Galo's breath catch. Then he slams forward; Galo moans around Gueira again, strangled and sweet. He keeps a relentless pace, chasing Galo's overwhelming heat and helpless noises, gripping at his hips and letting the momentum carry him.

Galo takes Gueira all the way to the hilt a few times, before pulling back to kiss and lave around the head of his dick. Lio doesn't let up, his pace growing in fervor and desperation, deep little groans punched straight out of his gut every time he slams in.

The fire surrounds Lio now, and it's never taken much to convince him to trust what's on the other side. Lio's so close that all it takes is Galo's murmured "C'mon, Lio, _please_ ," and he's coming. Lio's always tended to last longer than his lovers, but with three partners intent on finding his pleasure with him, he allows himself to take it freely, even when the search scares him.

Galo works his hips back against him through the aftershocks, through Lio's lingering, bruising grasp on his hips. Lio holds his position until Galo starts to squirm away, hesitating before trying to push back. He's already getting hard again.

"You're a damn handful," Lio groans, hoping it sounds loving. He pulls out, rubbing the back of Galo's thigh, receiving a contented hum in response. He can hear Meis' breathing grow sharp and uneven as Gueira gains the upper hand from underneath, breaking him down. It's a familiar facet of the diamond they've unearthed.

Lio stands up with an effort he manages to hide, stalking around the far edge, swiftly disposing of the condom. He turns, reaching out to stroke Gueira's hollowed cheek, asking, "You wanna come like this?" Gueira wriggles and gasps under the weight of the question, sharing a thousand-word gaze with the man whose cock is buried in his throat.

Lio grabs a condom from the box on the bedside table. Then he pauses, and takes another.

Meis retreats, his breathing labored, already knowing the answer. He climbs off of Gueira, settling against the headboard beside him, grabbing for the abandoned lube.

"No," Gueira gasps, reedy around the edges. He pushes weakly at the top of Galo's head and Galo pulls off too, nuzzling his face into the crux of Gueira's thigh, panting. Waiting.

Lio presses his face against Gueira's neck, kissing up to his ear. He doesn't have Galo's discipline - hips shifting in restless arcs, searching for friction - but Lio's voice still has a tangible hold on him that commands his full-body attention.

Lio smiles against the lobe of Gueira's ear, one hand reaching down to comb through Galo's hair, feeling him sigh. "You wanna fuck him? Make him come again?"

Galo grips at one of Gueira's thighs, kissing the inside where it's softest, its own wordless question. Gueira groans, his head pressing back into the pillow and baring his throat.

"Yes, Boss."

Lio presses a final kiss underneath Gueira's chin, sitting up. "Go right ahead." He presses one of the condoms into Gueira's hand, climbing into Meis' lap to hand him the other one.

Gueira urges Galo to sit up and flip over, settling between Galo's thighs. His legs are hoisted up, Gueira's hands fitting under his knees.

Meis' palm falls like a question at the small of Lio's back. It's a familiar language, but one Lio's more used to speaking, rather than being spoken to in. He answers in kind, arching into the touch.

The first breach of Meis' fingers inside of him is a revelatory role reversal. He's watched Meis and Gueira switch enough to know their rhythms, and he's switched enough with Galo to be comfortable with this brand of vulnerability, his reticence long shed behind him. Yet this feels different, heightened, powerful. Meis' fingers are slim and clever in opposition to Galo's: slower to stretch him but deliberate, searching.

Beside them, Gueira sets a brutal pace with Galo, who's already crying out Gueira's name in an exaltant prayer. Gueira looks strangely dwarfed, enveloped by Galo's thighs, face twisted in ecstatic concentration.

"You wanna take it all," Gueira rasps between thrusts, "you better _give_ it too, yeah? Don't go all limp on me, big guy."

Something in Galo awakens, and he meets Gueira's movements with devastating, concentrated power. Galo's nails grip his waist and dig in like claws, teeth baring around a ragged sob. Lio can so seldom unlock this side of Galo; it's incredible to see Gueira bring it out so easily.

Meis crooks his fingers inside like he's done this a million times, moving like he knows Lio's body inside and out. It would make something tender and soft twist in his stomach, if he wasn't busy biting a moan into Meis' shoulder, fingers clawing into the wood of the headboard. He almost misses Meis' chuckle in response.

Gueira comes after a few more withering thrusts; Lio can tell by his tired groan, his deep controlled breaths. Galo clings to him all the while. Satisfied with his work, Meis retracts his fingers, rolling on the condom between them.

Gueira's probably pulling out, but Galo scratches at his arms, chasing with his hips. "No, please don't stop," he begs, his own cock flushed and leaking onto his belly. "Please, just a little more…"

If the four of them were an orchestra, Lio could conduct it - anticipate every rise and fall, each contrasting chord and resolution. He's used to being followed, being looked to for cues.

"You had your turn, Galo," Lio grits, as he lines himself up over Meis' cock, pressing down. He manages to keep his voice steady as he continues, kinder: "Meis hasn't even come _once_. Wait for him, I know you can."

Galo sobs, but he nods, relaxing back onto the bed. He grabs his own cock, giving a single firm squeeze before his arms fall to the side. Gueira's thrusts become shallow, infrequent; he lowers Galo's legs but keeps a strong hold, anchoring.

Meis isn't too far off himself, still worked up; Gueira's probably just as aware, even when they're not touching. He shivers every time Lio spears himself down, his deliberate control flickering. Still, he's almost frustratingly tender, singularly focused on Lio even with the stakes raised - kissing along his neck, hands digging into the tense muscle of his shoulders. Lio is both maestro and instrument, setting the pace even as his own body is tuned and played, adding to the cacophony.

"Come on," Lio coaxes gently, snapping his hips with more force, tightening around him. "Go _hahh_ , harder Meis, I won't break."

Meis' feet plant flat on the sheets, bucking up into Lio with a ferocity he's been holding back. Meis unravels more quietly than the others, his thrusts increasing in intensity but not speed, his labored breathing his biggest tell.

Gueira's movements are still subdued, trying to make it easier on Galo. Beneath him, Galo breathes deep, counting in and out, eyes wide and glassy.

"Greedy," Lio rasps, but he can't say Galo's being impatient. Meis comes underneath him, arms wrapping around his slight waist, pulling him close. Galo reaches out, grasping at Lio's fingers - a language all its own, but he asks out loud anyway.

"Please."

"Yes, sweetheart," Lio squeezes against Galo's grip, his other arm wrapping around Meis' shoulders. "Come."

Gueira gives a tired exhale, but Lio hears a smile in it. He realigns, pushing back in at full-power; Galo's hold on Gueira's hips goes solid again as he gives a beautiful bodily shiver, back arching and abs contracting as he comes again.

With a parting kiss to Meis' cheek, Lio pulls off of his lap and drags his knees to rest against Galo's heaving side, leaning down to kiss him. He lacks Galo's stamina, too sensitive to come again. Meis takes care of himself while Gueira pulls out to do the same; Lio rearranges to lay across Galo's side to make up for the loss of heat and weight.

He tucks his face against the heated skin of Galo's throat, breathing hard. "Mine," he whispers, tracing Galo's bicep with a fingertip. "Mine, all of you, _mine_."

"Who's greedy again?" Galo chuckles into Lio's hair, voice wrecked. Lio collapses, throwing an arm over Galo's chest.

Gueira reaches for Meis' hand as he heads for the bedroom door, forlorn like a lost puppy.

"Shower," Meis explains.

"We can all shower," Gueira moans. "Don't go."

"We _cannot_ all shower," Lio grumbles. "Not at once. Two at a time, if you have to."

Gueira follows Meis' lead, still holding his hand, giggling together all the way to the bathroom. If they'd really been courteous, Lio thinks, they might have offered the first shower to Galo, who's worryingly unperturbed that his torso is covered in his own come. He can imagine that Galo would've insisted, though, since Meis and Gueira are still their guests.

Lio cuddles closer. He's not sure if Galo can fully hold himself up for a shower yet anyway; his eyes are still glazed over, limbs heavy, breathing labored.

"We put you through so much," Lio muses, tracing little circles on his skin. "You're amazing, y'know."

A smile breaks across Galo's face as he comes back to himself. "Hey, Lio."

"Hmm?"

"I think we're going to need a bigger place."

Lio's breath catches in his chest. Galo's out of it, drunk on the haze of having come twice, but soon they'll have to get together and discuss the steps that he just skipped.

"Let's get the couch first," Lio tells him, nails massaging Galo's scalp. "Okay?"

"Mmmmm." Galo's pleased hum quickly turns into a loud snore.

"You're kidding me," Lio breathes to no one, half annoyance and half adoration.

He presses another kiss to Galo's still lips, listening to the shower start across the hall. He hopes he's been kind enough. He's never really worried about that before.

There's time now that didn't exist for them until recently. Gueira and Meis will come back to bed, and they'll trade places, but first Lio's going to kiss them harder than they've ever been kissed in their lives. They'll tease him, ruffle his hair, kiss back just as hard.

Most importantly, they'll be here.

Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ

It's Galo's idea, as most of the deceptively good ones are.

Meis warns them that even though the design is tiny, the skin of their fingers is sensitive and thin. Galo isn't phased. Initially, Lio thinks he's just not thinking it through.

Galo goes first, which Lio is silently grateful for. It gives him a chance to acclimate to the sound of the gun, to watch Galo's face, let him squeeze his hand if he needs it.

(He doesn't need it, but he squeezes anyway.)

Gueira bets Lio that Galo will cry from the pain, but he loses, so he's in charge of buying dinner for their night all together this week. Then Galo stares at the wrapping on his hand as Lio settles in front of Meis, and joyfully, quietly weeps. Lio offers to split the cost.

It's over fast, because the flame is just a tiny outline. While Meis inks his own flame, he warns them that he'll have to touch them up every so often; Galo seems happy to have a repeating task to keep them together, instead of thinking it's a hassle.

The tribute to the Promare is only surface-level. There's something to be said for what it represents between any two of them, not to mention being a subtle beacon of resilience for the four of them collectively; hope from something that had symbolized suffering for so many, for so long.

So much is left on the table: trials to attend, stacks of paperwork to fill out and file. The foursome are a spinning wheel of good intentions gone to hell, and there's so much room to fuck up.

Hours later, when Galo unwraps his hand, he tries to hide the tears reforming in his eyes. They quickly fade into a smile that seems permanently etched on his face.

Maybe Lio can't get as far on his own as he'd thought for most of his life; maybe he just needed a team, all along. After years of running and destroying and finding and losing, he's starting to think he's found it.

Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ▼Δ

_Entropy (n) \ ˈen-trə-pē \:_  
_A measurable physical property that is most commonly associated with a state of disorder, randomness, or uncertainty._

**Author's Note:**

> In my head the latest console gen that Gueira got to play was N64, change my mind.
> 
> Fun fact: the working title for this story was 'zero chill'.
> 
> [title](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dt0IiGxNntw)
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/jadebrace1)


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